Prussia If I Die Young
by ihonestlytried
Summary: "If I die young, bury me in satin..." and that is how it went. Prussia's funeral was a peaceful one, quite unlike what was expected. Peaceful... or was/will it?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, love and admire it very much!**

 **A/N: This was inspired by a Hetalia (specifically Prussia) MEP. After sobbing for a while, I thought, "hey why not share it to the world?" and proceed to write this. Thank you for reading! Ps, I will most likely go back and edit this, just a warning.**

* * *

 _If I die young, bury me in satin_ _  
_ _Lay me down on a bed of roses_ _  
_ _Sink me in the river at dawn_ _  
_ _Send me away with the words of a love song,_ _  
_ _Uh oh, Uh oh_ _  
_

The day of Prussia's funeral came peacefully, very far in contrast to Gilbert himself. France had shown up carrying satin, claiming his friend must be sent off in beauty and love. England had marched in with his prided roses, claiming the former nation and drinking buddy must go off in beauty, yes, but also elegance. Veneziano, remembering the attention and kind, brotherly peaceful side of Prussia, said he would row a parade of gondolas to send him off. Japan thinking of Prussia's passion and energy, but kind aura, suggested sending him off at dawn. Spain, smiling gently at Prussia's "Mein Gott" and like of passionate songs, decided to sing his famous love songs.

 _The sharp knife of a short life_ _  
_ _Oh well, I've had just enough time_ _  
_

"Oh well, I've had just enough time…"

His last thoughts.

Enough time to watch Germany grow. To watch his friends mature. To watch the people he loved, love.

 _And I'll be wearing white when I come into your kingdom_ _  
_ _As green as the ring on my little cold finger_ _  
_ _I've never known the loving of a man_ _  
_ _But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand_ _  
_

Lithuania, Poland, even Hungary, all victims of the Teutonic knights "wrath", came and placed a small white square of cloth; a former piece of the Teutonic knights uniform. The ring was a courtesy of England's fairies and gilbird. Russia, Austria, and Hungary stood together remembering the times they had bothered or been bothered by Prussia.

 _The ballad of a dove_ _  
_ _Go with peace and love_ _  
_ _Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket_ _  
_ _Save them for a time when you're really gonna need them,_ _  
_ _The sharp knife of a short life oh_ _  
_ _Well, I've had just enough time_ _  
_ _So put on your best boys_ _  
_ _And I'll wear my pearls_ _  
_

"Ve~, come on everybody!"

Silently and calmly, the nation's file into different boats and gondolas, ready to follow North Italy's lead. With the steady strum and melody of Spain's soothing love song, they drifted down the river all at peace.

They finally reached the end of the river. South Italy let loose a cage of doves, as North Italy stepped off the boat and onto the one behind the one he was rowing which contained Prussia. England grabbed an armful of petals and let them drift. The nations surrounded Prussia's gondola to give it one last touch. Last but not least, they all helped spread the Prussian flag on him, and scattering blue cornflowers. They were ready now to give the final push to send him off…


	2. A breath was breathed

"Nein!"

A masculine voice rang from behind them.

The nations all hung their head, and didn't bother turning around. They knew that it was tough for him. The past weeks managing the funeral, possessions, will, and his only free time seemed to be spent releasing his sadness, denial, and pain. One of the reasons the nations hadn't found it odd to not have seen Germany for a long time, let alone the funeral. Without the work to drown out the emotions, the silence and his mind would swallow him whole. North Italy stood up with a steady, forced smile. He opened his mouth, as if to comfort, or invite over.

"No!"

Now this got their attention. America had not specifically had a close relation to the Germanic brothers, had he?

"Please!"

The nations did a double-take. How in the world was the Canadian involved in this one? The two northern American nations frantically waved their arms, screaming in desperation to stop the boat.

Germany paid no mind to the other nations and their attempts of a more logical approach to the matter, and stumbled into the chest deep water towards the single gondola covered in rich, dark blue flowers on top of a big blanket of a flag.

"You are not dead! You exist! Nein!"

"Stop it, Germany!" North Italy's voice came out surprisingly stern. "Don't you see that your causing others pain? Once people are gone, they can't come back, nation or not. We all are trying to move on; trying to accept it. Stop reminding them they have lost something they can never get back!"

"Nein, you don't get it. He exists! He's here, alive… alive and…"

"Dude, it's true!" America grabbed Canada and held him close. "He lives within us! He's still here! I mean, I'm not as sure as Germany is, but he could be alive!"

Spain, never being quite the emotionally strong one, gave a stifled gasp, sobbed, and doubled over on his guitar. Silence followed with the angry fist clenching Frenchman. "This may be too hard for a young one like you, Germany," France said with a hint of a sneer. "But as you grow old like we have, we learn to deal with these things maturely and rationaly. Not just through emotional outbursts."

All the other nations chimed in, with slightly rude, harsh comments, due to the fact the German nation had made a crack within their mask, their suit of composure.

Germany staggered backwards and leant on his brothers corpse-carrying gondola, feeling hopeless and hurt with the sudden assault of words. After being shut inside, it seems he had forgotten how cruel society and the world outside really was. He buried his face in his brother's chest like he used to. Something he had grown out of, and regretted no doing once Prussia had left them for good.

Despite the German's obvious distress, the nations did not cease with their verbal assault.

"No, god dammit! Dudes, get me a map!"

They barely paid attention, too absorbed in masking their emotions by releasing anger. None of them wanted to believe it when it happened. Denied the obvious evidences that they should have noticed before.

"You all are such SNAPPER HEADS!"

The Canadian had had an outburst. An outburst and insult that they didn't understand, but an outburst nonetheless. A silent whisper of "That comes from you, angelterre," and "You bloody wanker." Were the only sounds heard, other than a pitiful German sobbing in the background.

"I have a place called 'New Prussia' near waterloo." A kind Canadian voice said.

"I have some micro nations named after the dude, Prussia." A hopeful American statement was made,

"I… I have three states, of which can decide to join and become Prussian if they had voted for it…" A soft, pained German voice whispered.

"isn't it.. ya know… the people that counts? I mean, the people make up the nation, and we act accordingly, unconsciously. If we have people who consider themselves 'Prussians, aren't they Prussia's people in a sense?"

And there came a soft gasp, the gasp of an old soul, and old body. The gasp of a once powerful, energetic, optimistic, mockingly ego-logistical being.

"…

…..The fuck?"


End file.
